


Jumping On The Crazy Train

by Writegirl



Category: GAIMAN Neil - Works, Supernatural, The Sandman
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crossover, Don't Have to Know Canon, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Is this a thing?, Only if you squint - Freeform, Shipping without shipping, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writegirl/pseuds/Writegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a normal hunt: just a few werewolves kicking up dust in southern Illinois. Instead he had to deal with... well, when Dean figured that out he'd get back to you. One thing was certain, though: this was the last time he let Sam play Captain Save-A-Ho. The absolute last time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>       The younger Winchester set a bowl of cut up prime rib on the floor. “There’s got to be something you can tell me,” he pressed.</i><br/><i>“She’s not gonna kill you,” Barnabas added as he stretched.</i><br/><i>Sam laughed shortly. “That leaves in entirely too much she <i>can</i> do to us.”<br/><i>“Ain’t it the truth?”</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean Winchester Isn't Paid Enough For This Shit

              “Hey, stop that.”

              “Why?”

              Dean ran a hand down his face. Who the hell had to tell a chick to stop changing her clothes? And he meant really changing her clothes. Every time he looked at her she was wearing something different. “Because it’s creepy, okay? And we’re trying to keep a low profile.” He reached out and slapped a multi-colored fish out of the air, sending it cartwheeling back into the house. “And these… _things…_ aren’t helping.”

              The girl shrugged, and without moving a muscle the fish concentrated into a neat circle that floated around her, flashing bright colors on the walls. “I can keep a low profile.” As she talked her facesank into itself until her profile was squared off on the side and perfectly flat. “See?”

              Dean felt queasy. “Just keep them in the house, deal?”

              Her face shifted, blinked back to normal and thank _God,_ because this chick was weird-looking enough without her doing anything else. He pulled out his phone. Sam still hadn’t gotten back to him.

              One of the fish nuzzled his fingers, small mouth sucking at a knuckle before dashing back to its school and he fought the very real urge to cry. 

              This was not in his job description, and he was blaming everything that happened in the last five hours on Sam.

              They should have left her where they found her, he had planned on leaving her where they found her, but Sam (bleeding heart, fruitarian, Ghandi-loving _Sam_ ) had taken one look at this bag of crazy and decided she needed to come with them. Dean thought she’d be all right on her own. She’d stood up to a pack of werewolveswithout flinching, and they were about as badass as they come. Sure they’d taken out the majority of them, but when one remembered that hey, there was a little girl around who had a heart just begging to be ripped out and tried to do just that she’d knocked it on the nose and said, “Bad dog.”

              Whoever’s father or brother he’d been was now the new owner of a bichon frise. 

              Dean checked his phone again. “Come on,” he muttered. They’d called Bobby, Rufus, Nico, Jean (and that was the lowest of the low, calling her after the shit he’d pulled), but no one had anything. She’d passed every test he knew, actually gargled with the holy water and snorted the damn salt before going on about the Dead Sea and how springy it was this time of year. Silver was a bust. She’d materialized more silver jewelry than he thought a single person could wear when they made her hold his knife. The piercings in particular made his stomach roil. It must have showed on his face because they hadn’t lasted very long. She still had a chain snaking its way up one ear and five holes in the other, but at least there was actual visible flesh between them now. 

              To make everything that much more strange and headache inducing he and Sam saw something completely different when they looked at her. Sam saw a little girl, thirteen-fourteen tops, with short brown hair and grey eyes. Sure her clothes changed every now and then, but Sam seemed okay with that. Dean…well… either Hell had messed him up in even more interesting ways than he originally thought or she was fucking with him, plain and simple. A part of him refused to believe that it was just him, because he would not imagine a chick looking like this.

              First off, she had rainbow hair. Like Rainbow Brite, rainbow. He’d seen women try to dye their hair something similar, but no one ever really got the day-glo colors just right in real life. The other side was cut short and fire-engine red. At the moment it was sticking out like a sideways faux-hawk, which was better than the other side’s insistence on floating around her like she was underwater. Then there was the fishnets. And the mini-skirt (which, all right, she’d been wearing a miniskirt a second ago and now she was wearing some kind of wet-leather fetish getup and he so didn’t need this shit) and the…the… _changing._ She was cute, in a what-the-fuck weird way. He’d probably hit on her in a bar if she didn’t have all the crazy. “You remember your name, yet?”

              She peeked up at him, smiled, and leaned back on the floor and okay, maybe he was imagining this whole thing because those, right there, hadn’t been there a minute ago and made her exactly the kind of chick he’d hallucinate and hit on in a bar. 

              You know, minus the crazy.

              “I remember your name,” she answered, legs scissoring in the air. “But you forgot it. Everyone forgets. The minute you get out of the NeverWhere you forget.” She dug her head into the floorboards so she could look at him. “Why do you forget?”

                She looked so sad, asking him that; like he’d torn her heart out and fed it to some feral animal while she watched and cried, so he muttered something about charging his phone and darted into the other room. 

              _Please just let her find something shiny to chase so she’ll vanish and I never have to think about tonight again,_ he prayed to no one in particular. His more pointed prayers to Cas had gone unanswered, and right now he was hoping for anyone to take him up. There was still multicolored flashing going on in the other room, so he doubted anyone was listening. 

              The sound of Led Zepplin’s “Heartbreaker” was so loud that he almost dropped his phone. He picked up. “Please, tell me you-“

              “What the fuck, Winchester?”

              “Well, hello to you too,” he drawled.

              Metal banged against metal in the background. “Seriously, I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

              “Okay.” There was more banging. Jean must have been tormenting a pack of dogs. It was the only excuse for being that loud this late at night. “Did you get my message?”

              “Yeah, I did.” There was a crash loud enough to make him take the phone away from his ear. “And I reiterate: What the fuck?”

              “So you didn’t find anything?”

              “Didn’t- you sent me a picture of your dick, you asshole! What was I supposed to find? Unless you wanted me to search for crabs?”

              “What?” He flicked through his phone. There it was, a picture of a maniacally smiling chick with rainbow hair with mismatched eyes: one emerald green and the other cobalt blue. “I sent you a pic of this… thing Sam and I picked up.”

              “Here, I’ll retext you.”

              Dean waited, and Jean was going to break her phone if she kept typing that hard. He could hear the keys clacking. His phone beeped. “See, I told you, crazy-“ Only it wasn’t his crazy chick. It was his junk. There was even the strawberry colored birthmark just below his hipbone and how the _fuck_ did that happen? 

              He looked into the other room. Crazy was standing on her head, looking far too Zen for someone in that position. “Cute,” he muttered. “Real cute.”

              He spent the next ten minutes apologizing to Jean and describing Crazy in as much detail as he could, emphasizing that she was most likely some kind of entity that drove people batshit insane.

              When Jean clicked off he ran a hand over his mouth. He hated not knowing what he was dealing with. She could be _anything_ , and with her ability to do just about whatever she wanted, the horrible flavor of anything. But so long as she wasn’t slicing and dicing the local color he couldn’t justify putting a bullet through her head. There was no guarantee it would work if he did.

              “You should relax more. You’re all grumpy.”

              “Yeah, well…” he stopped, because he caught a look at himself in the broken pieces of a mirror and _oh hell no_ , he was not walking around wearing a rainbow stripped shirt and matching pants. “Listen, kid. I’m only saying this once. _Don’t mess with my stuff._ ”

              And that was the wrong thing to say, because she’d looked at him then, really looked at him with those mismatched eyes and Dean knew, he _knew,_ that he’d just declared war in some kind of language only crazy people and possible gods could understand.

 

              Sam was not freaking out. Maybe he was freaking out a little, but that was because their resident angel had come within a mile (exactly a mile, he now knew) of the abandoned house they were squatting in and declared he could come no closer. One second he was riding next to Sam in the Impala, the next he was standing on the side of the road looking as confused as Sam felt. To make it worse, he couldn’t even say why. They had both decided – meaning Cas had decided and Sam couldn’t really argue – to remain where they were until he could better assess the situation.

              “There is a presence,” the angel said, peering into the distance like he could see what was causing the problem. “It is not malignant, merely…unfocused. It impedes my ability to go further.”

              “Another angel? A god?” Sam wasn’t going to start pulling his hair. He wasn’t. “You’ve got to sense something,” he pushed when the angel didn’t respond.

              Castiel cocked his head to the side and opened his mouth. A blue and gold glowing fish exited, swam around in the air in front of him, kissed his nose with a particularly loud “Smack”, and darted straight up into the sky. 

              The angel followed it with his eyes. “Interesting.”

              A fish just flew out of his mouth, _kissed_ him, and all he had to say was interesting. Sam dug into his coat and pulled out a bottle of Excedrine.

 

              “Okay, listen," Dean started as calmly as he could. "I’m sorry about telling you not to touch my stuff. Very, _very_ , sorry. Just don’t do anything crazy.” He looked at the fish, and he swore they were glaring at him. "Crazier."

              Crazy girl wasn’t paying attention to him. She was staring out the window, her fish looking the same direction she was. “No peeking,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

              Dean darted to the window and looked outside. Just the same overgrown hedge that was there when they pulled up. “You see something?”

              “Barnabas is getting dinner. Last century he had to go all the way to China, but now he only has to go to 53rd.”

              Great, she’d renamed Sam. Though he had to admit, it fit him in a stupid way. “Sam’s checking to see if he can find anything on you, kiddo,” Dean filled in. 

              The fish around her popped like bubbles, leaving behind the scent of roses and grapefruit. “No one knows about us, except Danny, and he can’t tell.”

              Danny. Dean texted it to Sam. “Hey, you got a last-“ he looked up and dropped his phone.

              He was so killing his brother when he got back.

              There should have been a square, empty living room around him; the bay windows broken out so long ago that the shards were ground to powder before either Winchester was born. The window was still there, only it looked to be about fifty feet away. The worn wood floor had changed to marble tile and floating lazily in the middle of a steaming swimming pool, complete with Grecian statues spouting blue water, was the chick.  She looked at him, wiggled her fingers, and slid off the most scarily accurate blow-up nautilus Dean had ever seen.

              “Marco!”

              Warm water splashed on his legs and he looked down. Instead of his jeans and boots he was wearing a pair of long, rainbow-hued swim trunks and flip-flops.  


	2. Pie And Other Drugs

              Dean decided it would be better for everyone involved (meaning him, since Sam apparently decided it was cool to drop crazy in his lap then cut and run) to just get in the pool. He made this decision after finding out that no matter where he went, when he blinked it was there anyway. Turning around from a piss to find Crazy waving at him from behind one of the statues was too much, even for him. It turned out to be the best decision he’d made since agreeing to let her into the Impala. The water was bathtub warm in most places, aside from an ice cold current that wove through it. For the record, he did not shriek like a little girl the first time he swam through the eddy.

                He shrieked like a little girl when the blow-up nautilus twice the size of his torso winked at him and wiggled a suggestive tentacle.

                Crazy was content to let him float aimlessly through her pool after that, disappearing under the water to leap over him like a mermaid out of a bad movie, trailing colors and her ever-present fish. The ankle-length dress she wore didn’t seem to slow her down at all. Real mermaids weren’t looking to make arching leaps over unwary swimmers, Dean mused as he stared up at the ceiling. They were looking to get left the fuck alone and when you messed with them they drowned your sorry ass. Since the pool was only five and a half feet at the deepest he felt fairly safe. 

                The hunter closed his eyes, focused on pretending he was in a hotel pool instead of floating in one ready-made by a supernatural entity in an abandoned house in Skylar, Illinois. The warmth of the water made it feel like he was floating in midair. It was calm, peaceful.

                “I went to Hell, once.”

                Dean’s eyes snapped open. Crazy was looking down at him. Correction, she was floating over him hand hovering over his shoulder and what the _actual_ fuck. He paddled from under her and stood. “What?”

                “Hell.” She did a lazy backstroke through the air. “The Burning Realm. Gehenna. The Seat of Damnation.” She tucked her knees to her chest, red hair fading to flat blonde. “I didn’t like it.” She dropped back into the water with a splash.

                “Hey! Hey, Crazy!” Dean reached down, dragging a hand through the water in front of him, hoping to grab an arm or a leg. The water had gone opaque and thick where she landed. Shit, the last thing he needed was a suicidal _whatever_ on his hands.

                “She’ll be all right.”

                Dean spun around, hand going to his back before he remembered that she’d vanished his clothes over an hour ago. Sitting on the edge of the pool beside a handled paper bag was the biggest German Sheppard he’d ever seen, but there was no sign of the deep voice. The animal was staring at him with golden eyes. “Nice dog.”

                The Sheppard shook itself and stood. “Yeah. Now, if you’re done, the wonton soup is getting cold.”

                “Did you…” Dean squinted, because there was no way. “Did you just _talk?”_

                “Ooooo, egg rolls!”

                Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs went around his waist as a slender, wet weight settled on his back. Jesus, the chick didn’t weigh anything.  

                 “Come, on, Dean! Best Chinese in the state!”

 

                “Twelve miles outside Skylar, Illinois. Three story farmhouse off Brandt Rd. Can’t miss it.”

                “Brandt,” Bobby repeated. “And the angel hasn’t been able to tell you anything?”

                Sam glanced at his companion. Castiel was standing in the middle of the dirt road, eyes locked on the direction of the house. “He’s got nothing.”

                “Looks like that’s par for the course.” The older hunter sighed. “All right, I’ll be there in a few hours.”’

                “Thanks, Bobby.”

                “Don’t thank me yet.” He hung up before Sam could reply.

                “Robert is going to assist us,” Castiel stated.

                “Yeah.” Sam slid into the Impala. “You sure you just wanna sit here?”

                The angel nodded. “I will direct him further once he arrives. Please tell Dean that I am sorry I can’t be of more help.”

                Sam started the Impala and pulled into the road. After half an hour Cas had given up trying to get closer to the farmhouse and focused instead on trying to provoke another response. The fish hadn’t returned, but he did manage to get his coat turned into a pleather-like material with bright spangles. He’d turned it back (with difficulty, Sam noted) and went completely still, peering off into the distance.

                Sam’s phone beeped. It was about time. He’d been texting and calling since the ‘You Shall Not Pass’ situation developed. He pulled it out of his pocket as he turned onto the access road that led to the house.

                _An elephant never forgets where she left her trunk._

                “What?” He looked up.

                And slammed on the breaks.

                The Impala came to a stop inches from white railing. The farmhouse should have been half a mile away, not dead in front of him. Sam climbed out of the car and stared.

                When they arrived in Skylar days ago the house had been perfect for their needs: old, abandoned, no recent evidence of graffiti or drunken raves. Inside the walls were mostly intact and lacked raccoons, bees, or any other critters - natural or otherwise - that could be problematic. Brush had grown up over the years, hiding it from the main road so you almost had to be on it to know it was there. Just an old house, so long unused that even the local teens forgot it existed. 

              The house wasn’t run down now. The giant hedge out front was trimmed back into a spiral. The windows, once broken and empty, glowed yellow in the darkness, spilling rectangles of light onto soft grass. The porch wasn’t sagging. The rails, most of which had been broken or missing, were replaced and painted white. The old, weathered gray house was sky blue; there were even flowers in a window sill planter that didn’t look like any flowers he’d ever seen.

                “Dean?” He opened the door slowly, gun in hand. The salt line was still intact.

                The inside of the house had not been altered as much as the exterior. A table between the door and main staircase held more of those strange flowers (each petal a different color, waving slightly and were they _watching_ him?). The walls didn’t look molded and sported strange splashes of paint and abstract designs. The air was moist and warm and smelled like soup and pepper steak. “Dean?”

                “In here, Sammy.”

                Sam followed the sound of his brother’s voice, pausing when he saw the swimming pool. He stepped back outside, noting the dimensions of the house. There was no way that pool should have existed strictly from a physical perspective. It was getting stranger by the minute, and for them that was saying a hell of a lot. “Dean?”

                Something hit the back of his head. “I said in here.”

                Sam walked through the archway into what had most likely been a dining room. Dean sat at a giant marble table surrounded by cartons. The girl sat cross-legged on the table, tossing strips of meat to a black dog. “Yo. You hear from Cas?” he asked.

                Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah. He’s stuck outside some kind of barrier.”

                “Silly bird,” the girl said around a mouthful of noodles.

                “Uh, Dean?” His eyes took in the table, the sparkling paint, the credenza, the _dog_ , and Dean shrugged. 

                “Just go with it, Sammy,” he nudged a carton in his direction. “Get it while it’s hot.”

                ‘Going with it’ lasted another ten minutes.

                “You’re not supposed to tell secrets, Barnabas! Bad dog!”

                The girl was fuming, hands on hips, and now he could see what his brother was talking about. The hair was particularly disturbing, writhing around her like angry snakes. Hell, what had he let convince him to help?

                “It’s not a secret, merely not readily known,” the dog answered, sitting primly on the table. “Considering what you want, they have a right.”

                She stamped her foot and the table vanished, spilling the remaining Chinese food onto the floor. Barnabas didn’t seem concerned; he just settled amid the wreckage and nosed at a carton of fried rice. 

                “So, you’re an immortal,” Sam coaxed. Her attention settled on him and he felt the back of his neck prickle.

 “I’m not telling.”

                Dean swore, and then yelped. The swim trunks he was wearing had shrunk down to a speedo and really, he did _not_ need to see that.

                “Watch the goods,” his brother groused, then paled. “I meant be careful, not magic them away or anything.”

                “Ew,” she wiped her hands against the torn denim vest she was wearing. In a blink he was back in his jeans and shirt.

                “They have a right-“

                “Nope!” She turned upside down, floating in midair. 

                “Okay,” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “How about a game? Hot and cold. You let us know when we’re getting close to the right answer.”

                The dog muttered something about the blind leading the blind, but the girl seemed happy. “Yes! You start! Where’s the fudge?”

                _Fudge?_ Dean mouthed, and Sam shook his head. “I don’t think-“

                “Cold!” She ran into the other room with a resounding splash and a wave of water that lapped at their ankles.

                The two brothers stared at each other.

                “Your fault,” Dean bit out.

                Sam couldn’t deny it this time. “I owe you pie.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This was supposed to just be a bit of fun, and a plot had to go insert itself. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Also, Barnabas always sounds like Gregory Peck in my head.... yeah, I know.


	3. Tempus Frangit

          By the time they fell asleep the sun had been up for hours.

          Dean remembered folding himself into a corner, Sam tapping away at his computer and Crazy balanced on tiptoe, legs making a perfect ‘L’. The cord he plugged into the wall at Crazy’s insistence slowly turned moss green, the head folding over itself until he imagined it literally sucking power from the house. He woke up to the smell of something burning, curled in a hammock that swung lazily over the pool, the surface so crowded with blow-up animals and shapes the it was barely visible.

          “Sam?” he called, rubbing crust from his eyes.

          “Yeah?” the words came from his right.

          Dean rolled over. Sam was swinging next to him in another hammock, computer on his chest.

          “Uh…how…?”

          “Both of you managed to fall asleep where you were sitting, and were placed in more comfortable sleeping arrangements,” Barnabas’ voice came from the side of the pool. “It is not in her nature to be cruel to those she favors. Not any more than necessary.” There was the sound of claws clicking on tile. “Breakfast is served, by the way.”

          The two brothers looked at each other, then down. There was no way to get out of the hammocks without taking a dunk in the pool.

          “Oh, you have got to be-“ Dean closed his eyes. “Crazy!”

          “Polo!” The word was followed by a rush of the burning odor.

          “We need to get down from here,” he called back.

          The hammocks disintegrated, sending them both into the water

          “Fuck!” Dean sputtered, getting his feet under him and really, he should have seen that coming.

          Sam was floating on the nautilus, arms wrapped around his laptop and feet dangling in the water. 

          “I hate you,” Dean said flatly as he walked to the stairs, water streaming into his eyes. “I really hate you.”

          Crazy skidded around the corner wearing an apron and a chef’s hat. The pan she held poured black smoke. “Breakfast!”

          

          Castiel kept his eyes focused in the distance. Sam or Dean should have contacted him by now. He tried to will himself to his charge, but was unable. He could sense his presence a mile to the northeast, energies mingled with the salty taste of frustration and annoyance, but no dread or fear.

          For the thousandth time he attempted to enter the strange bubble before him, striking it from all sides. His blows slid off no matter his angle of attack. It encompassed an area two miles in diameter, with what he assumed to be the abandoned house at its center. The area was not warded; no sigils carved into rock or tree, nothing to explain his impotence. There were few entities in his experience capable of creating something that could so thoroughly impede a soldier of God without direct conflict. The energy was constantly shifting, imprecise and chaotic, another mystery.

          The second day when Bobby, Sam, or Dean didn’t appear he became restless. Sam told him Bobby planned on being in the area within hours, not days. Castiel ascended, searched out Robert Singer’s energy, and flew.

          He came to a stop in the older hunter’s living room.

          “Je- don’t do that!” Bobby slammed an oversized package he was carrying onto his desk. He reached up and massaged his chest.

          “I apologize.” He checked the hunter’s energy, pleased to find his appearance had only startled, not harmed. “Sam said you were to be in Skylar nearly two days ago.”

          “Needed more time for research. Left them both messages.” Bobby eyed him curiously. “New look?”

          Castiel looked down. His clothing was once again changed. The suit was replaced with ill-fitting grey jeans and a tee shirt, _Son of the Morning! One Millennium Only Tour!_ emblazoned across his chest. The trench coat was a leather jacket riddled with zippers. With a sigh he restructured the cloth, returning it to its original form.

          “It is a side effect of attempting to enter the area,” he explained, and far less embarrassing than some of the changes he had suffered through.

          “Not too keen on visitors?”

          “Not that I have been able to ascertain.”

          The hunter ripped open his package and pulled out an oversized tome, pages thick and yellow with age. “Had to borrow this from a friend of a friend,” he said, spreading it across the desk. “Didn’t get here until this morning. Had some interesting things in it might be what we’re dealing with.”

          Castiel examined the document. The cover was thick leather inscribed with iron runes. Bobby pressed his hand against it, fingers covering four of the symbols, and the book clicked with the smell of ozone. “Well, glad that worked,” he muttered, lifting the heavy cover. 

          The pages were velum, some single, some folded double or triple on themselves to reveal strange tableaus. Not for the first time Castiel lamented his superiors lack of working knowledge when it came to some of the supernatural denizens of their Father’s realm. The habit of his brethren, to ignore those they considered beneath them, had caused him far too much trouble of late.

          They poured over the tome, suggesting and dismissing creatures as they went. Most of them were known, and without assistance would have been unable to cause a disruption on such a large scale, others had been extinct for centuries.          

          In the center of the book two pages opened wide wings in all four directions. The images were crude smears of charcoal delineating seven figures emerging from enveloping darkness. Sharply defined sigils floated around them, carefully rendered in contrast to the group they surrounded. Castiel frowned. “This should not be human knowledge.”

          Bobby huffed. “Yeah, well, when your friends start helping out down here we’ll gather up all Daddy’s books and let you take ‘em. Till then, we use what we got.”

          Before he could protest further the image bowled outward from the page, pulling the ink behind it with a sound of rushing air. In seconds the drawings were floating above the tome, drifting in front of the hunter and angel in distorted rounds, leaving the page they once occupied yellow and empty.

          “What the hell…“ 

          The images popped, sending ink everywhere.

          Castiel cleaned the ink away with a thought, but a smell lingered: sweat and soured wine. “I believe I know what we are dealing with,” he said, interrupting Bobby’s tirade.

          The hunter ran through the rest of the pages, assuring himself that nothing else was damaged. “Gonna share with the class?”

          “The creature that has them may mean them great harm, or none at all. It is hard to determine.”

          “One of those things in that picture,” he guessed.

          Castiel gave a curt nod. “An Incarnation.”

  

          “So… you want us for something specific.”

          “Warm.”

          “That may or may not hurt us, or people we know.”

          “Warmer.”

          “That has to do with dealing with supernatural creatures.”

          “Getting warmer.”

          “You want us to fight them.”  
          “Cold!”

          “Give up, Sam. She’s not telling us anything.”

          Sam scratched his head. The last few days (at least he thought it was a few days. Their watches stopped working and they both had a feeling that the days and nights were running longer than they should) were difficult. The ‘Hot, Cold’ game had come to a standstill, with them having to go over questions that were already asked, trying to refine them.

          Leaving the house turned out to be a bust. It was always in front of them no matter what direction they traveled in. It was Dean who noticed that each time they did the outside got a little stranger. The hedge sprouted blue flowers that glowed at dusk and dawn; the sun would briefly shift into different colors at random intervals. At night the arm of the Milky Way was brighter than either man could recall seeing, arching in pale purples and creams through a starry sky. Once, the house itself floated above its foundations, the stairs leading to the porch elongated so they covered the new distance. They added these things to the growing list of abilities they were developing for their host. 

          Other changes were more mundane. The house had electricity of some sort, which supported a bizzare microwave/stove and a new refrigerator that was always filled with food, some of it strange and indefinable. Whatever they asked for appeared and remained in stock until they said they no longer wanted it. When Dean suggested lobster he found six of the creatures, each as long as a forearm, scuttling in the kitchen sink. They both convinced her not to cook again after that first morning and she seemed happy with them doing it for her, or sending Barnabas for takeout. Sam assumed the dog was a shape-shifter, since he couldn’t imagine a restaurant handing over bags of food to the animal.

          “Hey, Crazy,” Dean said from the table where he was cleaning his guns. “Think we can call our friends? Let them know we’re still alive?”

          She deflated a little at that, hurt darkening her eyes. Her clothes rippled: the skirt lengthened and turned shimmering black, the torn top growing to cover her arms and neck. “I’m not your friend?”

          “Yes, you are,” Sam jumped in, giving his brother a glare. “We just have…other friends… who’re worried about us.”

          “Fine.” She grabbed his laptop and opened it. “Call them.”

          “I don’t think-“

          “Call. Them.”

          Sam took a breath. “Okay.”

          

          “Bobby?”  
          Bobby looked up. Great, now he was hearing things.

          “Bobby!”

          He knew that voice. “Sam?”

          “Could you come to your computer?”

          Bobby walked around until he was standing in front of his desk. There was Sam, staring at him with a sickly smile. He glanced down. The power buttons on both the screen and the tower were dark.

          “Uh. Hey.”

          “I’m not gonna ask how you’re doing this, son.”

          “Good. Because I don’t know.”

          “They have made contact?”

          Bobby glared as the angel appeared next to him. “You know, I’m gonna put a bell on you,” he threatened.

          Castiel ignored him. “Are you both all right?”

          “Yeah. We’re just… stuck. But we’re okay.” _Speak for yourself_ , was shouted in the background.

          “Any chance of you getting yourselves out of there?”

          “I don’t think so.” _No, no… I am not wearing… this is just…SAM!!!_

          Dean pushed his brother out of the way and Bobby wished there was a way to record this, because the older Winchester looked like he just stepped out of the sixties. “Are those flowers?”

          Dean ripped the oversized pink blooms out of his hair. “You gotta get us outta here, Bobby. She’s crazy.”

          “Polo!”

          “Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “I would like to speak with her.”

          “Hey, Crazy! Someone wants to talk to you!”

          The screen filled with pale skin and mismatched eyes. “Do not attempt to adjust the picture.” The voice was a deep baritone. “I am now controlling the transmission.”

          The angel blinked. “I am Castiel.”

          The Incarnation leaned back. Leave it to the Winchesters to get kidnapped by a kid. A weird looking kid, Bobby mused, but still a kid. “Hi, Castiel,” she said with a loose wave, voice light and airy.

          “Hello. You have taken two of our friends against their will,” he explained. “We would like them back.”

          A fish swam in front of the screen, leaving little bubbles in its wake. “I’ll give them back…” her eyes cut to the side.

          “Within their lifetime,” Castiel pushed.

          “Arrgggg.”

          She popped. Literally burst into a shower of sparkles. Bobby turned to the angel. 

          “Okay. I need you to tell me everything.” Maybe if he wrote everything down and gave it to Chester the man wouldn’t try to tear him a new one for what happened to his book.

          Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^
> 
>  _Tempus Frangit_ means "time breaks", a play on words of _Tempus Fugit_ "time flies". It's also inscribed on Delirium's sundial.
> 
>  _Son of the Morning_ is another name for Lucifer
> 
> "Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are now controlling the transmission" is from The Outer Limits.


	4. Death and Taxes

          “You can’t give me a hint, even a small one, about what’s going on?”

          Barnabas lifted his head from his paws. “She’s my master, kid. She doesn’t want me to tell you about her, I can’t. Them’s the rules, like it or not.”

          The younger Winchester set a bowl of cut up prime rib on the floor. “There’s got to be something you can tell me,” he pressed.

          “She’s not gonna kill you,” the dog added as he stretched.

          Sam laughed shortly. “That leaves in entirely too much she can do to us.”

          “Ain’t it the truth?”

          Sam watched Barnabas as he ate. The animal was closest thing they had to normal in this place. He might talk, but in other ways he acted like a dog. Unfortunately for them he was dog-like in the loyalty department, though Dean wondered if it had less to do with loyalty and more to do with some kind of geis. He decided to change tactics. “Why is she obsessed with Dean?”

          “He’s the one she wants,” the dog answered after eating half the bowl. “You she…tolerates. You’re not the one she’s interested in, but you’re Dean’s brother, so she has to deal with you.”

          Sam turned back to the remaining steaks.

          As far as they could tell they were trapped in this bubble for a week. Two days ago they stopped venturing outside entirely. Whatever force made the random changes inside the house had run rampant on the outside. The land visible through the windows was a chaotic jumble of bushes and trees, none of them any color they were used to. Hills appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as suddenly, all of them continually twisting and changing shape and color. The sky wasn’t like any sky they’d ever seen, and night and day had lost any sense of meaning when either could pass in a matter of minutes. The grass actually moaned when he stepped on it getting to the Impala for supplies, but not weapons. Any weapons they tried to smuggle in vanished as soon as they crossed the threshold. Leaving the windows open had to stop once they started hearing voices; disjointed sentences and random words carried on a breeze that smelled like sweat and bad liquor. The entity didn’t mind them, even sang along if the words were poetic or catchy.

          Dean was getting to the point where he couldn’t take any more.

          He tried to pretend he wasn’t snapping, but Sam could see the signs. When Dean Winchester stopped yelling, stopped complaining, something was very wrong. Once the voices started he stopped asking when she was going to let them go and started observing everything he could about their host. Then came defiance. He ignored her, refused to pay any attention to her antics. When not answering her didn’t get the right response he turned to popping the blow-up toys in the pool. When she turned his pants into something with the feel of cat hair and his boots to goo in retaliation he retreated to the bathroom for the rest of the night, only coming out when Sam tempted him with food.

          Sam was about to ask another question when he heard a soft tap. Barnabas’ head came up sharply, eyes focused on the backdoor. “Did you hear that?”

          When the knock came again, more insistent this time, Sam dried his hands, trying to ignore the way the towel caressed his fingers while a tassel wrapped snake-like around his pinkie. There was a silhouette visible through the sheer curtains, short and slight.

         “Barnabas?”

         The German Sheppard walked to the living room without another word. Sam went to the door, contemplated getting their host, and decided against it. He opened the door.

          “Oh. Hello.”

          “Hi.”

          The silhouette belonged to a woman. She was short, with black hair and skin so pale it was almost grey, made paler by makeup that outlined her eyes and trailed down one cheek. She wore a black tank top, black pants, and combat boots, a large ankh hanging from the collar around her neck. The random thought of a Goth troupe of Girl Scouts made a laugh tease the hunter’s throat. He looked past her. There was no car, no way for her to have come except on foot through the swirling landscape. “Can I help you?”

          She smiled. “Actually, Sam, I think I can help you.” She gestured with one hand. “Can I come in?”

          

          “You’re being mean!”

          Dean ignored their jailer, focused on the mirror and the blood seal he was creating. It was something he’d picked up working on his own; a banishment spell he’d only used once before and swore he wouldn’t use again. The sigils required blood from the caster and something personal from the object being banished. Thankfully, Crazy didn’t mind when he asked for a lock of her hair. The spell was dangerous (the last time he’d ended up all but laid out in his hotel room for a week), but powerful and effective; he’d never seen that particular demon again.

          The only problem was it required patience, privacy, and time to put together. Since being kidnapped (and screw that dog, he knew kidnapped when it happened to him) time was something he had in abundance. Patience and privacy were in short supply. The chick barely left him alone to sleep; constantly hovering over him and Sam, trying to engage them in her bizarre conversations or play games where there seemed to be no rules. The only upside to being wherever she had them tucked away was his dreams. He hadn’t had a nightmare since the night they found her.

          “Please come out? I have cookies! Or pie! You like pie, right?” The smell of cooked apples and cinnamon drifted through the small room.

          Crazy was starting to sound desperate, and he fought the urge to open the door. The fact that she even allowed him to keep it closed said something. From what he and Sam had witnessed, she controlled everything in their little world.

          There was a thump, and he could imagine her falling against the door, tendrils of hair crawling over the wooden surface and worming into the cracks.

          Keep it together, he reminded himself. 

          “Dean!”

          Finally, the complex array was complete. He leaned away from the sink and whispered the Sumerian incantation for banishment. When nothing happened he hung his head, ignoring the way the surface shimmered when he wasn’t looking directly at it. He thought about leaving the mess (bloody towels, writing, and palmed steak knife) in protest before he dumped everything in the sink and turned on the tap. If Crazy didn’t flip out, Sam would give an epic bitch-face about not being told what he planned.

          When he exited the bathroom Crazy was sitting at the railing, hair white, clothes hanging sack-like off her slender frame. “Hey.”

          She whirled around. “Dean!”

          Damn it, it was hard staying pissed at someone who looked that happy to see you.

          Crazy frowned when she saw the pink towel wrapped around his forearm. “You got hurt?”

          “Na,” he shrugged it off. “I’m good.”

          “You got sharped!” She glared into the bathroom and the porcelain stand turned glossy and rounded. 

          Great, she made a blow-up sink.

          “Come on, Crazy-“

          “Dean?” Sam called from downstairs. “We have company.”

          He was going to ask her who else she’d kidnapped when Crazy’s face turned pensive, almost afraid. Okay, not an expected visitor. She ran back to the railing, almost falling over it.

          “Death!” Crazy said the word the same way someone might say “Jessica!” or “Sandra!” She jumped down from the landing and sailed into a woman’s arms.

          “Delirium.” 

          The new chick didn’t look nearly as weird as Crazy. Gothy, but not over the top Goth. The surroundings (the jungle vine that was once the cord to Sam’s laptop, the sculptures coming out of the walls) didn’t seem to bother her at all. He thought back to the expression Crazy had when Sam announced company. Whoever, or whatever, she was, she might be their ticket out of here. Or kill them all. It seemed like a fifty-fifty split.

          “So, you two know each other?” Sam prompted.

          Death hugged the girl back and Dean blinked. She actually looked like a girl, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. “You could say that.” She looked down, censure in her eyes. “Destiny’s been worried sick.”

          “But I found him!” Crazy bounded upstairs to Dean and pulled him after her. Damn, she was strong when she wanted to be. “See! Only it’s not really him, not yet, but he could be.” She beamed, looking between the two of them.

          Dean examined their new visitor. She was familiar, very familiar. Not, ‘someone I’ve slept with’ familiar. More like ‘We had a long conversation once and called back and forth before we both fell off the map’ familiar.

          The woman fidgeted. “Well, this is awkward.”

          “Do I know you?” he finally asked. 

          “Yep. And no, not really. You’re a strange case, Dean Winchester.” She turned to Sam. “You, too, but not as much as he is.”

          He pointed a finger at the girl. “She called you Death.”

          He got a salute in response. 

          “We’ve seen Death,” Sam said. “And he looks nothing like you.”

          “Can’t be every place at once,” the woman countered, keeping an arm firmly around her friend’s shoulder. “ Or I can, but…You saw Old me, about a hundred thousand years ago I think. Shouldn’t have let Rumiel talk me into splitting permanently like that, even if it was to keep Lu locked up.”

          “What about Tessa?”

          “T? She’s a part of me.” She thought for a moment. “I used to have a really good explanation for when this happened.” She snapped her fingers. “Mushrooms!”

          Sam blanked. “What?”

          “Mushrooms,” she repeated calmly. “You see a mushroom, you’re not seeing the actual fungus, you’re just seeing the fruiting body, a small part of the whole organism. The real fungus is under ground, vast and twisty. Tessa’s the fruiting body.” Her smile turned sharp. “I’m the fungus.”

          “That’s nice,” Dean said. “But what’s that got to do with your little friend here kidnapping us for eight days?”

          “Have not! Did not!”

          “Del.”

          That took the starch out of her. For the first time in days her hair fell flat and limp around her thin shoulders. “But… he’s perfect,” she said, tears streaming down her face to plink like jewels on the tile. “I searched and searched and he works.”

          Death ran a hand through Crazy’s hair. “They have things that need doing, Del,” her voice was soothing. “Very important things. You can’t just keep them here. Destiny’s been having kittens trying to keep everything straight since they disappeared.”

          Crazy sniffled; the splashes of paint on the walls turned dark and dull. “But I miss him. And we’re six now. Six isn’t seven and we have to be seven.” A fish rubbed against her cheek.

          “I miss him too, kiddo, but we can’t just go picking up mortals whenever we want.”

          Sam cleared his throat. “So you’re Death.” He pointed to Crazy. “And she’s…”

          “Delerium,” Death filled in when the girl pouted. “Little sister. Pain in the butt.”

          “And Destiny. Who else?”

          Death smirked. “Trade secrets, kid. I’m sorry Del’s kept you here so long.”

          “Uh, yeah.” Dean’s gaze took in their rapidly changing surroundings.” About that?”

          “Del?”

          Delerium inhaled, and the world around them bowled inward and snapped back. One moment the house was the strange collection of colors and objects and the next it was the familiar run-down place he and Sam had decided on. He glanced out a broken window, relieved when he could see the overgrown hedge, blue sky, and the Impala.

          “You won’t forget me, will you?” Delerium asked, purple sundress blowing in an unfelt breeze. “Not like NeverWhen?”

          Dean leaned down so they were eye to eye. “I promise I’ll never forget any of this for as a long as I live.”

          She smiled shyly at that. “And maybe, sometime, you’ll come with us? Be our brother?”

          He looked to Sam. “I’ll think about it.”

          Delerium clapped. “Barnabas! We’re going home!” She pressed something into his hand and curled his fingers around it. “I can talk to Dream for you, make Cor leave you alone before he chops your brain to bits.” She backed away, hand fisting in her dog’s hair, and disintegrated into a cloud of sparkling fish. They swirled for a moment before flying out the window.

          “That was…” Sam shook his head. 

          A flash caught Dean’s eye. One of the fish returned, silver and blue dancing off the walls. It swam to him and kissed him on the forehead before flying away again.

          “She really likes you,” Death said, looking at him seriously.

          Dean opened his hand. She’d given him a shard of multicolored glass, smooth at the edges. “Just my luck,” he said, shoving the piece into his pocket. He turned to Death. “So… what’s this about being your brother?”

          She smiled, and vanished.

          Dean fought the urge to sigh. They were better at vague exits than Cas.

          As if the thought summoned him, the angel appeared in the foyer, Bobby beside him.

          “Damn it! I said I don’t like you dragging me all around Hell and gone!”

          Castiel ignored the older hunter. “Are you two all right?” he asked, looking them both over.

          Sam and Dean glanced at each other. “Fine, Cas.” Dean answered. “Just…really confused.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I realize that the story ends rather abruptly, and it is confusing, so bear with the following very long note to clear up any strangeness.
> 
> In my head the Endless that Delerium tried to replace with Dean is Destruction. While it's not explicitly stated a Sandman fan might have been able to pick this up (and if you can't, let me know so that I can retool appropriately), though you can argue who she was planning him to be doesn't really matter. Delerium decided they needed to be seven members again, and she picked Dean for the job. Her attempts at being nice to Dean are a hangover from her previous relationship with Destruction. They were each other's favorites, she wants that kind of closeness back, and she wasn't about to take no for an answer.
> 
> The house/enviornment changing is a direct result of Delerium being present. As an Incarnation she represents madness, and that is reflected in her surroundings. The longer she remained in a single location, exerting influence to keep Castiel away or to make their living arrangements more appropriate, the more that location fell apart in a sense. Once she decided to leave, everything returned to normal. 
> 
> A geis is a magical binding that prevents a subject from doing or saying something the caster doesn't want them to.
> 
> Cor is the Corinthian, the wellspring of nightmares.
> 
> Most of this would have been explained eventually, but the story was starting to run away from me so I decided to just cut it where it was.
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! 
> 
> The version of Delirium Dean sees is jumping back and forth between [ This one ](http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs50/i/2009/312/d/d/Delirium_sandman__by_Troianocomics.jpg) and [ This one. ](http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/dragonfall1221/TheFool.jpg)
> 
> In the context of this story 'Neverwhere' is the place where souls come from. It has nothing to do with Neil Gaiman's "NeverWhere". Strange truth, I just thought it sounded cool and didn't know about the show until I started doing research for the next chapter.


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